


The Sirens of the Ozmit Sea

by BBCotaku



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Enemies to Lovers, Multi, Percy has a pegleg, Sirens, Slavery mentioned, because reasons, ships (both literal and metaphorical), the world hates Percy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-24 01:10:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9693236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BBCotaku/pseuds/BBCotaku
Summary: Powder and smokeHalt panic's chokeN' find rightful lambs to slaughterFor each life wonCruel lies undoneBring back lost times of laughter---A critical role pirate AU





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you watch Pirates of the Caribbean and Critical Role back-to-back. 
> 
> Before you read this, dear readers I must warn you I am rather aweful at finishing fics, especially as I have just started university.

All Percy could smell was the bitter stench of the sea. It stung his nose, cracked his lips and burned at his chest. Through cracked eyelids he could spy the crisscross of blood and scraps dashing across his skin, small fragments of metal just visible from where they had become lodged in his flesh. He tried to speak, to wet his mouth but found his tongue as useless as sand, only able to allow for the smallest of croak.

He hurt. Oh gods above everything fucking hurt. His arms, legs, head, back were all ablaze with blood and salt water seeping through the damp wood that served as his only lifeline.

Percy closed his eyes and tried to think, an action made near impossible by the shrill ringing in his ears. Through the blar fragments of before flicked in and out of his mind, appearing and disappearing with the steady slap of waves against his make-shift raft.

Canon fire. He remembered that. Julius rousing him from his hammock, screaming at the top of his lungs as the ship shook around them. Cassie’s hand, cold and limp slipping from his fingers and down, down, down--

He tasted bile, his croaking shifting from hacking gags to sobs. They were dead. All of them. And he was going to die too, sunbleached and starving on a plank of wood in the middle of the godsdamned ocean.

A million faces flashed before Percy’s eyes. His mother, holding her fencing sword as she tried--in vain to teach him how to fight. His father, smilelined as he looked over Percy’s drawings with pride. Julius teasing him about his glasses. Vesper scolding him something rotten for it. Oliver and Whitney kicking each other under the table during dinner. Cassandra, a tiny babe, sleeping soundlessly in her crib…

A black haired man and woman, arm in arm as they watched their crew rip the de Rolo ship apart. Plank. By. Plank.

Anger exploded in Percy’s chest, hotter than the sun, than the pain. His teeth grit as he pictured their faces, burning every feature into his mind’s eye. Their name’s repeating over and over again and again as if doing so would drag them down to Davy Jones’ locker with him.

_Briarwoods, Anders, Stonefell, Ripley. Briarwoods, Anders, Stonefell, Ripley. Briarwoods, Anders, Stonefell, Rip--_

“HELP ME!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, his eyes screwed shut as his voice scraped his throat like glass.

_Briarwoods, Anders, Stonefell, Ripley._

“SOMEONE, FUCKING HELP ME!”

_Briarwoods, Anders, Stonefell, Ripley. Briarwoods, Anders, Stonefell, Ripley. Briarwoods, Anders, Stonefell, Ripley. Briarwoods, Anders, Stonefell, Ripley. Briarwoods, Anders, Stonefell, Ripley. Briarwoods, Anders, Stonefell, Ripley. Briarwoods, Anders, Stonefell, Ripley. Briarwoods, Anders, Stonefell, Ripley._

“Please,” Percy hissed. “I don’t want to die.”

 _Briarwoods, Anders, Stonefell, Ripley._  
Briarwoods, Anders, Stonefell, Ripley.  
Briarwoods, Anders, Stonefell, Ripley.  
Anders, Stonefell, Ripley.  
Stonefell, Ripley.  
Ripley.  
Ripley.   
Ripley.

_Rip…_


	2. Chapter 1

_...ley._

“Wakey wakey.”

A cool cloth dabbed at Percy’s brow, small droplets of water dribbling down his cheeks. His eyes snapped open to a blurry mix of tanned browns, straw yellows and bright, piercing blues.

"My glasses,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper. “I need…” before he could finish his sentence Percy felt the cloth being replaced by the warmth of tightly held metal. His spectacles sliding neatly into place at the end of his nose and as they did one eye shifted into focus, the other facing a spirling and jagged web of shattered glass.

A woman with white-blonde hair smiled at him, her tanned cheeks as pink as strawberries. She wore a simple white blouse that had been stained to hell and back with blood and what Percy hoped was booze. A brass sun of Sarenrae hung loosely around her neck, turning her into an awful mixture of a holy woman and gore.

“It’s good to see you awake,” she said, reaching for the bucket and cloth she’d left on the nightstand. “Most of us feared the worst, you were practically half-dead when we found you."

“Where am I?” Percy groaned, lifting himself upright with a sharp wince. Everything still hurt, but not quite as much. “Who are you?”

Pressing the cloth to his forehead once again the woman raised a single finger. “You’re aboard the Greyskull.” She raised a second finger. “I’m the person who saved your life, Pike.”

“Pike…” Percy licked his lips, tasting salt. Greyskull sounded familiar. Greyskull, Greyskull…

“You’re Percival, right?” Pike asked. “We saw it sewn into your jacket--we took your jacket by the way.”

“I don’t care about my jacket,” Percy said, groaning as he attempted to turn out of his cot. The room he was in was small and bare, made up of tightly-packed iron cots and not much else

Pike put out her hand to stop him. “You sure?”

“I’m sure. Let me up.”

“That is really not a good idea. Your fever hasn’t broke yet and you're bound to still be in shock--”

Percy shook his head, planting his feet on the boarded floor with a hollow thud. Or rather he planted a single foot and a stout pole of carved wood.

Percy closed his eyes. Slowly. Breathed in, Breathed out and looked again. The pegleg did not disappear.

Pike placed a hand on his shoulder. “Percival?”

“Heh.” A pearl of laugher popped from Percy’s mouth like a bubble. “Heh...you’ve got to be...oh gods this can't…” He burst into a fit of laughter, one hand clamped firmly over his mouth. “Oh god!” he hissed, spittle coating his palm. “Oh god, oh god!” Tears streamed down his cheeks as he tried to get up, warbling as the waves below him shifted and turned.

“Careful!”

“Why, in the name of all the gods in the sky, should I be careful?!” Percy roared suddenly, gripping the side of his cot for balance. “This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.” He turned, shuffling towards the door.

“Percival!” A pair of hands gripped his waist and he looked down to see Pike, who was much smaller when stood against Percy’s full height. “Lay down, you're injured.”

“I can't. Whitestone sank. My family, they killed my family. Oh god! My leg, they took my leg.”

“Who's "they"? Oh, Percival you're being daft! If anyone took your leg it was me, it was too damaged for me to treat and it had to go.” Pike narrowed her eyes, shooting Percy a stern look. Not quite a glare, but by no means friendly. “You’ll hurt yourself or someone else. Sit. The. Hell. Down."

Finally Percy’s legs gave out, his knees hitting the floor with a hard thud. He stared. Nothing more, nothing less. Just stared.

Carefully, Pike reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay," she whispered, her voice shrinking from strict to kind. "Go back to bed, it'll all be okay."

“It is not okay. They’re all dead.”

Pike’s eyebrows bunched together in a tight frown, though she still managed to keep the slightest hint of a smile. “Your family is safe. I promise."

Percy clenched his jaw so hard it cracked. “They’re _dead_ ," he spat. They shot them all point-blank." Explosions of crimson clouded his vision. Blood and sea water. The heat of an open flame as it burned at his skin.

“Yes." Pike's soothing tones brought him back to reality. "But they're in a better place now, I’m sure.”

Percy didn’t relax. His shoulders didn't lower, his jaw didn’t unclench. “You’ve done this before,” he stated dully.

Pike nodded, raising her shoulders in a shrug. “Most pirates have dead parents so…”

Percy drew in a long, slow breath, his head going slack, chin on chest. “Pirates?”

“Pirates.” She paused for a moment, nibbling at her lip. “Please don’t lose it?”

“I think I’m beyond “losing it”.” Percy got to his feet before falling back down on his bed.

Greyskull. Yes. That name was indeed familiar. The fastest ship in all the seas. Home to Vox Machina; one of, if not the most, ruthless band of pirates in all the world.

And one of them just amputated his leg and tried to console him.

Anxiety lodged a phantom lump in Percy’s throat, tears spilling down his cheeks. He hadn’t cried in years, since he was a baby. Not properly. Not like this. It felt odd, yet somehow therapeutic.

“Oh, please don’t cry.” Pike cooed, seating herself next to him, wrapping an arm round him. “It's alright.”

It was at this point, on the edge of passing out, drenched in sweat and salt and hysteria that Percival de Rolo decided Pike Trickfoot was, quite possibly, the nicest pirate he would ever meet.

He was not wrong.

***

Percy did not move from his bed for three days. Three days spent with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, listening to slapping of waves and scuff of feet on the deck above him.

In the moments that Pike wasn’t nattering away at his bedside (continuing conversation regardless of whether or not Percy joined in, which he rarely did) Percy could strain his ears and wig on the muffled conversations of the crew. It was better than listening to the explosion of voices within his own head. It became a kind of mental exercise, piecing layers of conversation and meaning together from scraps of words and mumbled tones.

The name “Vix” came up quite a lot, usually preceded by one or two cusses.

Someone, presumably a man, with one hell of a deep voice had a tendency to laugh and yell a lot, stamping against the floorboards to such a degree that Percy readied himself for it to crash down on top of him.

Another--probably a woman--sang sea shanties until the cows came home. Random tunes and tales of beautiful fae that could blind a man with a wave of their hand and dragons able to burn a whole city to cinders with only a single breath

Another voiced sounded overtly british, hissing to himself about maps and poppies.

This crew, Vox Machina, seemed odd, crazed and completely and utterly mad, but not necessarily in a particularly worrying way. More a “these people are pirates? Honestly?” way.

But the shuffles of the crew were short lived as Vox Machina packed up for the day remarkably early. The sounds of garbled speech quickly replaced by the slow and steady lapping of waves and the occasional pitter-patter of the footsteps of whomever was left on watch.

With nothing but silence to occupy his mind Percy found himself thinking of Whitestone. The great vessel of cherrywood and sails as white as clouds. The memories brought bile to his throat. A teasing, burning bile that refused to cool until Percy coughed his lungs up. He woke Pike up this way more than once, the young woman stumbling in bleary-eyed and nursing the beginnings of a hangover to pat his back and change his vomit-stained sheets.

It wasn’t until mid-morning on Percy’s fourth day aboard the Greyskull that his carer allowed him to hobble beyond his bed.

“The Captain reckons you should be well enough to be moved now,” Pike explained as she aided Percy to the door. “She wants to speak to you first though. See what type of person she picked up.”

Percy blinked dumbly for a moment. “She?” he asked, struggling as he fumbled on the rickety stairs leading to the deck above. Each step creaking and thudding under foot.

“Yes, She,” Pike confirmed. “Captain Vex’ahlia to be specific.”

Percy quirked his brow. “I was always told Pirates considered it bad luck to bring woman aboard their ship.”

The statement seemed to amuse Pike, triggering a loud snort from the tiny nurse. “Well, then we must be screwed!” she grinned. “We’ve got three on here already, plus however many Ladies of the Night Scanlan and Grog bring aboard when we’re in port--hold on, can you balance yourself for a moment? I need to get the door.”

Percy managed to stand on his own two feet long enough for Pike to shove open the door, giving the knob a good few tugs before the rusted hinges would let go.

The sight of sunlight after near four days of darkness was blinding. Fuzzy spots of darkness clouded Percy’s good eye, sending him stumbling and squinting onto the aft-side deck. He blinked and blinked, holding up one hand to cover his broken lens and breathing in the sight of sky and sea.

“Pegleg’s up!” A bombing voice cut swiftly through Percy’s peace, followed by several thudding footsteps. A man the length over width of a tree trunk bound across to Percy, his face flushed red with rum. “I was wonderin’ if you’d killed him, Pike.”

Percy rubbed his eyes on the back of his hand. “Not quite,” was all he could manage to say, the rest of his words being swallowed up by a rising shadow of anxiety. This man certainly looked the part of a pirate. Muscles as thick as Percy’s head, skin tanned as leather, tattooes covering near every inch of his body. In simple terms this man was completely terrifying.

“Oo! Is that him?” As though to counteract this mountain-man’s towering nature a woman hurried up behind him. She, unlike her fellow crewmate, was more Pike-ish in figure, if a great deal taller. She wore a loose, lime-green peasant dress, her wild curls of hair pulled tied from her face by a handkerchief and looked, all in all, rather ordinary--if extremely pretty.

“I’m Keyleth,” the woman beamed, shaking Percy’s hand with a disconcerting amount of gusto. “Pleasure to meet you and I’m sorry about your leg.”

“Um, thank y--”

“Keyleth, Grog,” Pike scolded with a shake of her head, a motherly scowl on her lips. “Captain warned you about talking to cargo.”

Grog winced, his flushed face becoming redder still. “She didn’t say nothin bout that.”

Pike raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t she Grog?”

“Well. It’s just really hard not to, ya’ know,” Keyleth gabbled. “I mean he just turned up out of nowhere and all--”

“Hang on a moment.” Percy raised his hand, his brows scrunched tight. “Since when did I become cargo?”

Grog raised a hand to his mouth, shifting his fingers in a way that mimicked him buttoning his lip. An action that sent Pike’s eyes rolling.

“I think it’s best we leave that for the Captain to explain. Speaking of.” She gave Percy’s arm a tug. “Let’s go, before she sends both of us to the brig.”

Percy’s stomach sank like a stone as Pike lead him on their way. Cargo. No wonder she’d taken such good care of him, he was loot to be polished! His wooden leg scrapped as he dragged his feet, each step becoming slower and slower as they came closer and closer to the Captain’s quarters.

Vex’ahlia. The name of the woman whose crew saved his life. The name of the woman who would, undeniably, be the end of him.


	3. Chapter 2

“Hello, darling.” Those were the first words Captain Vex’ahlia Vessar spoke to Percival. She said them with a half-smile, her head propped up in one hand and a quill in the other.

Percy wasn’t quite sure what he had expected, perhaps a sick and salty cutthroat like those from stories and old wives tales, or a grumpy and grim middle aged woman like the consultants who helped plan his father’s voyage. Vex’ahlia was none of these. She was the same age as Percy for a start, give or take a few years, with long dark hair tied back in a neat braid. She dressed in what could only be described as “the stereotypical pirate attire”; a white blouse, leather coat, knee-high boots et cetera, with the added flare of a bright blue peacock feather tucked neatly atop her hat. She did not look mean or hardened by her position, rather she (just like Keyleth) looked less like a pirate and more like a noble.

“A bit of a gormless one, aren’t you?” The Captain’s words knocked Percy back to his senses.

“Hm?”

Vex’ahlia laughed. “Exactly. Now, please sit.” She looked to Pike giving her a small nod. “Could you wait outside, Pikey?”

“Aye, Captain.” The small woman nodded in reply, aiding Percy to the chair across from the Captain’s desk before tottering out the door, leaving the two alone.

Vex’ahlia waited for the door to click shut before sorting through the pile of notes scattered haphazardly in front of her. “So,” she began. “What reasons does a de Rolo have for being adrift in the middle of the ocean?”

The question caught Percy a touch off guard, though her still managed to sort his thoughts in time for a quick reply. “I already told your nurse my story, I would have thought _Pikey_ would pass it on.”

“Doctor.”

“Pardon?”

Vex’ahlia looked up, catching Percy’s eye for the first time. “Pike is a doctor, not a nurse. Best in all of the Ozmit.”

“Ah. I apologise for my mistake.” Percy was having trouble breathing again, his heart a thudding ball in his throat. Still his voice remained cool and unwavering. It was a talent of his, one that often became useful in situations of interaction with whichever woman (or man) tried to catch his attention.

“Besides I’d like to hear the story from the source,” the captain continued, placing her quill to one side.

Percy narrowed his eyes. “You don’t believe I’m who I say I am, do you?”

Vex’ahlia raised her shoulders into a shrug. “I’m just checking, darling. Many people like to spin stories of nobility to gain favour with me and my crew. One has to be careful.”

Giving a great and long sigh Percy straightened in his seat, locking his and the captain’s gaze. “My name is Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the Third. I was aboard the de Rolo’s ship, Whitestone on course for Wildmount when we were attacked by pirates such as yourself and held captive six days--no I do not know why. My family died, I, somehow, managed to survive and was picked up by your crew and doctor leading to our meeting right here and now.” He paused to allow a smug smile to stretch at his lips. “That’s want you wanted to hear, yes?”

“There’s no need to be rude, Percival.”

“I’ve had a rough few days, I think I have a right to be rude.”

Vex’ahlia’s lips pursed as she gave a short whistle, waking the lump of fur to her left that Percy had assumed to be some kind of stuffed animal. He’d heard of Pirates owning exotic pets like parrots and monkeys, but never dogs. And here he was looking down the snout of a gigantic caucasian shepherd.

“...may I retract my last statement?” he asked. He tensed as the dog stomped over to its master, settling next to her with a low, protective growl.

“You may.” The Captain looked Percy up and down, scratching the dog behind the ears absentmindedly as she thought. “Fifty-thousand gold,” she concluded, leading back in her seat.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Fifty-thousand gold,” Vex’ahlia repeated. “That’s how much we’d usually place for your ransom.” She tapped a finger to her chin, pausing. “Perhaps with a time limit of...twelve days? No, ten.”

Percy swallowed hard in an attempt to return moisture to his mouth. “But my situation is different.” It wasn't a question.

“You have no one to pay.”

“And while your crew seem rather kind I doubt that you’ll simply allow me to walk free.”

“Indeed.”

The captain went quiet again, the room’s silence only filled by the dog’s steady panting. Her eyes took Percy in bit by bit; his hair, his eyes, his tattered clothes. And then she spoke. “We’d probably have to take off a few hundred due to the glasses and leg, though brown hair’s always popular and you are quite attractive so we shouldn't lose too much profit.”

Percy’s jaw clenched. “Dare I ask?”

“People are always looking for workers like you--”

“Slavers,” Percy interrupted.

“Employers.”

“Slavers.” The word burnt Percy’s tongue, sending shivers down his spine. He’d heard stories of the kind of conditions these “employers” leant their livestock. He’d seen the actions of masters, how they treated those under them. Teens and young women with thin faces, bleeding fingers and eyes as blank and helpless as a doll.

  
Without hesitation Percy began to tug the rings off his fingers one by one, before digging and clawing through his trouser pockets for anything that would be worth so much as a copper piece.

Thank the gods the pirates had only taken his jacket.

All in all Percy’s total wealth came to a single waterlogged pocketwatch, three rings, nine copper pieces, four silver pieces and eight gold coins.

“What’s this?” Vex’ahlia asked, raising her eyebrow as Percy pushed the small pile towards her.

“My attempt at a transaction, Captain,” Percy answered, running a handful of equations through his head. “Added up this should be worth at least three-thousand, the fabric from my jacket should get you another hundred or so.”

Vex’ahlia rested her chin in her hand. “You think you’re worth three-thousand gold, Percival?”

“I don't I'm worth three copper, Captain.”

Vex’ahlia began to sort through what was left of Percy’s belongings. Lifting the coins into neat piles with skilful fingers. “You do realise it's common for pirates to take anything of worth from the captives, right? I could keep this, plus whatever total some stuffed-shirt offers for you.”

“I was hoping you’d make an acception.”

“I’m afraid that’s not happening.”

“I'm well aware.” Percy shrugged his shoulders, his stomach churning. “It was worth a shot.”

“Are you going to try to run?”

“I'm in the middle of the ocean with one leg, I have nowhere to go.”

Vex’ahlia chuckled. “You're smarter than most then. I've been attacked by far too many hostages--Pike.”

The cabin door opened enough for Pike to stick her head round it. “Aye, Captain?”

“Escort our guest to the brigg before he changes his mind.”


End file.
